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THE LOFT continues

Aunt Carol unlocked the cage door and gave me a one-sided hug.
(One-sided because, as you'll recall, my wrists were securely locked
behind my back with a pair of shiny new hinged handcuffs.) Her arms
enveloped my nude, embarrassed body and nearly crushed the air from
my lungs. I'm somewhat lilliputian (as you'll also remember), and
Aunt Carol is something of an Amazon (about a good three inches taller
than Erin—and strong), so she very well might have
crushed the air from my lungs if my nose and mouth hadn't been buried
in her ample bosom.

"Well, you don't look much the worse for wear," she gushed. "I see
a few very minor bruises and rope burns, but nothing that couldn't
be explained away by a good creative 'there I was sliding into
third' story."

"Ah, right now I don't think I could think of anything very
creative," I mumbled. "What are you doing here?…not that I'm not
always glad to see you."

"Let's have some tea and I'll explain."

As she lead me out of the vault and towards the kitchen, I began
to recover my wits.

"Could we stop by my room so I can get some clothes?" I asked.

"Nice try, Brooke," she laughed. "I know all about the game you and
Erin are playing. I'm not here to spoil the fun, just to make sure
things aren't out of control." I sat in a kitchen chair while she
put on the kettle.

She rummaged in the cabinets. "Darjeeling? Camomile?"

"Earl Grey. You could act as my accomplice," I ventured, "and help
me escape the nefarious clutches of your cruel and sadistic niece."

"You don't really want me to do that, do you?"

"I'm not sure," I said quietly.

Carol chortled. "Even if you were sure, I wouldn't let you go. I'm
casting myself in a different role. Besides, your contract is with
Erin, not me."

"Erin told you about the contract?"

"No, I found it in the den, along with the keys to the vault, that
cage she had you in, what I assume are all the other doors in this
brick maze, and this tiny little key which I'm sure you recognize."
She held up a keyring with the handcuff key extended.

"Want me to show you how it works?" I asked.

"You're hopeless," she laughed, "as well as helpless... and at least
for now, you're going to stay that way."

We chatted and lounged around the loft (or at least I lounged as best
as I could, hands cuffed behind my back and all), until Erin came
home about three o'clock. (Somewhat early for her.)

Erin was as surprised to see her Aunt Carol as I had been. Standing
and facing each other, the family resemblance was unmistakable.
Save twenty years, three inches, (and two or three bra sizes), they
might have been twin sisters.

"I told you on the phone she was fine," Erin groused.

"I knew she'd be fine, but as I told you, I'm concerned that Brooke
is going stir-crazy locked in that cage all day." Aunt Carol flopped
next to me on the sofa and gave my shoulder a sisterly squeeze.
"I just thought I'd come over and brighten her day. Besides," she
winked at me, "I never could resist a captive audience."

"Or an abominable pun," I groaned.

"We discussed that too," Erin said. "You're the one that talked me
into taking my vacation early, so I could spend the rest of the
month with the 'Prisoner of the Vault' here."

"Vacation?" I asked.

"It's a slow time at work anyway," Erin explained. "Nothing new will
be happening 'til the new LAN servers get here, and they won't really
need me when they do get here, so I swapped my vacation time
with Ronnie. I was going to surprise you with the news," she turned
and glared at Aunt Carol, "until a certain uninvited guest spoiled
things."

"Well, rather that spoiling surprises," Carol laughed, "I'm
full of them. Help me bring a box up from the van and
you'll see."

Erin and her aunt started towards the front door when Carol turned and
pointed in my direction. "Forgetting something, Erin?" she asked.

"Oh, go ahead," I said innocently. "I'll be fine right here."

Ten minutes and thirty yards of rope later I was gracefully if somewhat
indignantly reclined on the couch, hitched and wrapped from neck to
toes, and chewing on a cotton washcloth held tightly between my teeth
with the sash from my bathrobe.

Several minutes of impotent struggling later Erin and Carol returned
wheeling a large wooden crate.

"Whew! Good thing your van has that hydraulic lift," said Erin, "or
we'd never have gotten this thing out the side in one piece. It
doesn't weigh that much, but it's so bulky."

"The lift is so I can move my sculptures with minimum effort and
expense. (Carol is a very successful artist.) Speaking of which..."
Aunt Carol opened the several latches sealing the top of the crate
and lifted the lid to reveal a second, much smaller crate, and
two large dufflebags. With Erin's help they lifted out the second
crate and opened it to reveal an exquisite bronze sculpture about
nine inches in height. "Behold 'Andromeda Waiting!'" Carol
proclaimed proudly.

Erin gasped in amazement. I could only give a wide-eyed stare. (I
may have gasped too, but with all that terry cloth stuffed in my
mouth who could tell?)

The sculpture was exquisite. Seated on a realistically wave-worn
rock encrusted with tiny barnacles, starfish, and such was a tiny
maiden with wrists and ankles locked in heavy chains. Her plastered
and hanging hair and the shining finish of her bronze skin gave
the uncanny impression of streaming moisture, as if a cloud of spray
had just passed over the rock. Head bowed and eyes downcast, her
pitiable expression was the very image of resignation to a tragic
fate. (The effect might have been somewhat morbid, if I hadn't known
the story of her coming rescue... a rescue I could have used just
about then.)

"The foundry only cast 20 of these," Aunt Carol explained. "This is
the first satisfactory test casting, and is unnumbered—but I signed
it for you."

"She's beautiful," Erin whispered, stroking the tiny maiden’s head
and back. She embraced her aunt and kissed her cheek. While Erin
began rearranging our knickknacks to find Andromeda a prominent
place to await her rescue by a little bronze Perseus (who probably
wasn't going to show any time soon), Aunt Carol hauled the two dufflebags
out of the crate and dropped them on the carpet.

"This stuff is for your experiment," Carol explained. "I stopped at
the home of a performance artist I know and picked out some things
to keep you ladies occupied for the next few days or weeks or whatever."
She dumped the contents of one bag, creating a large pile of what
appeared to be belts, straps, and various other leather and metal
accessories of uncertain utility.

"Aunt Carol!" Erin laughed. "I never knew!"

"Hey, I just thought I might broaden your horizons, and give you two
something different to play with. You know, a little break from rope
and handcuffs."

Oh joy! Auntie Carol had brought her niece a "Bondage Dolly
Play Set"—and I got to be the dolly.

"Now some of this stuff is kind of complicated," Aunt Carol explained,
"so you'll have to watch closely." At this point, things got
unconventional fast. To our utter astonishment—Carol began
undressing in the middle of our living room!!! Erin was speechless.
(Me too. Gag or no.)

Her costume reduced to panties and bra, Carol rummaged through the
leather goods and shook out what looked like a bridle or harness
for some sort of weird alien horse. She stepped through part of
the tangle with one leg, put her arms through what seemed to be
a couple of randomly chosen leather loops, shrugged her shoulders,
and was wearing a collection of dangling straps and buckles.

"Oh, this will never work," she complained. "There's just no way you
can put one of these things on yourself. You have to put it on
someone else." She stepped out of 'it' and stood rubbing her chin,
puzzling out a solution. Suddenly she snapped her fingers. "Got
it! Erin, you can be the model. Grab this stuff and meet
me in your bedroom. I'll get my clothes and follow."

Erin was still dazed by the experience of seeing her semi-naked aunt
parading around the living room modeling kinky leather goods.
(Aunt Carol was a knockout, by the way. Athletic, tanned (and
freckled), with firm, generous breasts, and the sort or grace, muscle
tone, and vigor I hope to have when I'm the high side of
40.)

"Huh?" Erin remarked profoundly.

Aunt Carol pointed to part of the heap at her feet and the hall door.
"Go!" she commanded, and began donning her skirt, blouse, and
sandals.

Erin stood in apparent ambivalence for a moment, then shrugged,
gathered the tinkling leather mass, and headed for her room as
ordered.

Aunt Carol came over to me, buttoning her blouse. She bent over, kissed
my forehead and whispered into my ear. "You'll want to watch what
happens in the next several minutes quite carefully," she said. "You'll
probably want to write about it some day." With a wink, she left my
rather puzzled, amazed, and well-roped self and walked after her niece.

I spent the next half hour trying to spit out my gag and wiggle some
slack from my ropes, all without success. At some point I grew bored
(again) and sort of dozed off.

THE
LOFT

—part 3

Next thing I knew, Aunt Carol was standing in the hall door with a
broad smile on her face. In her hand was a leather leash which seemed
to be attached to something out of sight down the hall. When Aunt
Carol stepped into the room and tugged on the leash, I was greeted
with a truly amazing sight.

Stumbling into the livingroom came Erin, naked but for several dozen
interlacing straps, a complex leather corset, and a tiny leather
g-string. The leash in Carol's hand was clipped to a broad collar
clasped tightly around Erin's neck and secured with several small
buckles. From the collar branched a network of straps and metal
rings that pinned her arms very tightly to her sides and attached
to the corset and each other with various buckles and clips. Her
wrists were secured in broad leather cuffs and held at her sides
by leather straps circling each thigh. Similar cuffs secured her
elbows and upper arms and were joined to the system of straps circling
her arms and torso. The hourglass corset held its tight shape by
a cunning web of tiny straps and buckles and had a small window-like
cutout for her navel. Erin's pert breasts were restricted by several
very small straps which crossed from the top of the corset and various
parts of the upper harness to anchor two metal rings through which
her nipples protruded. A buckle and strap from the base of the corset
passed through a ring at the top of the shield-like front of the
g-string. When Erin turned at her Aunt's request, a tight strap
from the base of the g-string to the lower back of the corset was
revealed. Broad leather cuffs encircling each ankle and linked by
a foot of silver chain completed the ensemble. All of the buckles
and snaps on the harness, corset, collar, and cuffs were securely
locked with tiny, silver, heart-shaped padlocks that tinkled like
bells as Erin pranced and turned.

Lightly freckled at the arms and shoulders, porcelain white on her
breasts and dimpled behind, Erin's fair skin was a striking contrast
to the dull black leather of the harness, which was matte and textured
like the hide of some exotic wild animal. Erin's flesh bulged slightly
between the spaces separating the thin, tight straps, and as she
made what little motion the harness allowed, her ineffectual muscles
flexed, causing the straps to ply and creak. >From her rapid
panting, it appeared the tight corset was restricting her breathing
a little. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, shoulders,
and between her captive breasts. She strutted and posed, shameless
in her naughty pride.

"Interesting sensations, aren't they?" Aunt Carol asked.

"Did you have to buckle these straps so tight?"

"You get used to it after a while," Carol chuckled.

"After how much of a while?" Erin asked uncertainly.

"I was part of the performance piece these little numbers were designed
for. I put up with those straps four hours a night for six weeks.
After a while the strobe lights and what the artist called music began
to be more of a bother than the harness. Luckily the show didn't tour."

Erin and I exchanged startled glances. Apparently Auntie Carol had a
much richer past than we had ever guessed.

Erin fluttered her fingers and found she could touch no part of her
bonds. (The posing was over. She seemed to be seeking a means of
escape.) "Weren't you embarrassed?" she asked.

Carol laughed. "Not embarrassed at all. No one can recognize you when
you're wearing one of these." She held up a leather hood. "Here,
I'll show you."

Erin took small, chain encumbered steps backwards as Carol approached
her with hood in hand. Despite half-voiced protests, the butter-soft
leather was pulled over her face and down around her head. The hood
had small, exotically slanted openings for the eyes, nostrils, and
mouth. Working quickly, Carol gathered Erin's red curls, pulled them
through a hole in the back of the hood, and let them swing free
in a ponytail. The hood fit like a second skin, and Erin gasped
as the laces were tugged and knotted.

"We usually wore spandex body suits under the harness system," Carol
explained, "so the only clues to our identities were eye and hair
colors...that and our figures."

"Ah, can we put this thing on Brooke now?" Erin asked with forced
nonchalance. "I think I've learned all I need to know about how it
works."

"Oh, there's more," Carol smiled and held up a small harness and strap
affair with a large ball of foam attached. "You see, we weren't allowed
to talk to the audience."

"No! I don’t think so. No gag!" Erin protested.

"I do think so," Carol answered pleasantly, and began strapping
on the harness. It had a large ring in the back (for the ponytail),
and several straps that circled Erin's forehead and ran down either
side of her nose, under her chin, and between her lips, anchoring
the large foam ball in her mouth.

Carol stepped back and we both watched as Erin danced in small circles,
straining against the harness, tossing her head, and making well-baffled
angry howls. She struggled and kicked for several minutes, bloody
murder in her eyes. (I have only seen my roommate truly pissed-off
a few times, but when she gets really angry,
look out! She turns into the proverbial red-headed spitfire.)

After several minutes Erin wore herself down. Her gagged screams turned
to muffled sobs, and she collapsed to the floor, angry tears streaming
down her leather covered face. Aunt Carol sat down beside her, rocked
Erin's tightly restrained body in her arms, and crooned a lullaby
'til the sobbing subsided.

"You know why I did this?" Carol asked.

Erin looked into her face with tear stained eyes.

"I did this for the sake of your friendship with Brooke. If you
continue this game the way you've been going, without either finishing
it or taking it further,...it will end in heartbreak. I know you
better than you think, Erin. You talk like a free spirit, but in
the end you always choose the safe course. You've started something
you don't know how to stop, and poor Brooke is going crazy from frustration
and boredom," (Who, me?) "and you're letting it happen because you're
afraid. I won't allow it. I love you both too much."

Carol produced a Kleenex from somewhere and wiped Erin's eyes.
"Sometimes the best way to teach a child to swim is to toss her in the
deep end. If you won't take control,
I will." Carol stood and rummaged through the still plentiful
pile of leather goodies. She looked back at Erin and winked. "You
think about all this while I get you and Brooke ready."

(Ready for what?)

Erin lay on her side and watched the show as Aunt Carol unwrapped
my ropes and began dressing me in a somewhat less complex if every
bit as secure leather harness of my own. My little number had twin
straps with a buckle at one end and a series of metal rings and straps
at the other. Carol parted the two straps and dropped them over my
head leaving the buckle dangling between my shoulder blades and the
rest of the harness dangling down my front. She then selected the
central strap, pulled it between my legs and threaded the end through
the back buckle. The lower portion of the strap didn’t simply run
through my sex like a crotch rope, but was comprised of a pair of
narrow, suede-soft, and pliant straps held apart by small metal brackets.
Nestled between my legs, (and after careful and highly intimate adjustments)
the straps held some of by favorite body parts—open. (How shall I
put this? I could feel a breeze in places I normally didn't.) Aunt
Carol tugged the end of the strap taut and secured the buckle. The
remaining straps of the harness circled my arms above and below my
breasts, and at waist and hips. Like I said, pretty simple next to
Erin's "night-of-a-thousand-buckles" showgirl costume.

My arms were tightly pinned, but my steel cuffed wrists were not held
down by any part of the harness. Carol remedied this oversight with
the most bizarre thong bikini bottom I have ever seen. It secured
around my hips with thin straps that snapped closed at the small of
my back, covered (just barely) my pubis, climbed over the harness
strap already cleaving my behind, and rather that attaching to the
rear hip straps, was tightly secured around the hinge of my handcuffs
—very tightly secured. I call it bizarre, not because of its method
of wear or the fact that it was made of leather, but because its
interior surface was lined with about a hundred tiny, soft, (and delightful)
rubber nubbles. The narrow harness straps divided, stretched, and
exposed parts of the sensitive inner linings of my sex—exposed them
to the attentions of the nubbles, and when I flexed my arms or twisted
my hips, I was treated to a tantalizing and arousing caress. It was
sort of like being licked between the legs by a hungry kitten (I
imagine.) Unless Erin had something really interesting under
her g-string, I was getting the better end of the deal. (That's right.
Erin's floor show, Aunt Carol's coup de main, and now "Nubbles
the friendly g-string" had made me horny again.)

My ankles and knees were strapped together and I was laid on the floor
(so to speak) next to Erin. Aunt Carol was gathering up the remaining
miscellaneous straps, gags, cuffs, collars, blindfolds, hoods, and
(what the heck is that thing?) and putting them back in the
duffel bags when the phone on the end table rang.

Erin and I started and reflexively screamed through our gags. We then
looked at each other sheepishly. (We weren't so sure we wanted to
be rescued by whoever was on the line anyway.) Carol chuckled and
strolled to the phone.

"Hello?...Mr. Hudson..."

Mr. Hudson was Erin's boss. Erin mewed through her gag, blushed bright
red, and bent into the fetal position as if trying to hide herself.
I rolled my eyes in disgust. Did she think the guy was psychic?

Carol smiled and continued talking. "No, she's out doing some last
minute shopping with her roommate Brooke. I'm her Aunt Carol." She
put her hand over the speaker and whispered to us, "I won't tell
him you're tied up at the moment...too cliché ."
She removed her hand. "Yes.... No.... That's right.... They're
both going to be my guests at my studio.... OK, I'll tell her. ...What
was that? The network servers are an additional two weeks backordered?
Oh my!.... Yes, I'll tell her.... Via e-mail.... Of course!....
A pleasure talking with you too Mr. Hudson.... OK, Carl it is then....
Goodbye!" She hung up the phone. "What a flirt," she remarked. Erin
nodded her head in mute agreement.

Aunt Carol continued repacking her gear. "Erin, Mr. Hudson... I mean
Carl, says you can take at least an extra week's vacation
if you want, maybe two, and you should send him an e-mail note if
that's what you want." She finished repacking the duffels, but instead
of putting them back in the crate, she tossed them in the corner
of the room. She then bent over Erin and began doing something to
her gag. Abruptly the noise level in the room rose a few decibels,
and Carol tossed what appeared to be a small metal cap into the crate.
(Apparently the gag had some sort of pluggable tube built into it.)
Next she lifted Erin off the floor and deposited her in the crate.
Erin gave a few muffled protests and gracefully flutter-kicked her
chained feet, but was no match for "Carol the Amazon." I had a floor
level view up Aunt Carol's skirt as she stood on tip-toe and leaned
into the crate. I heard more gagged mumblings from within, as well
as various metallic snaps and clicks. Then Carol straightened up,
looked at me over her shoulder and grinned. It was my turn.

First Carol untied my gag, removed the washcloth stuffing my mouth,
and retied the sash between my lips giving me a tight cleave-gag.
(I wasn't as well-silenced as I had been before, but like Erin, I
could now breath through my mouth if I had to.) Carol picked me up
and as I was lowered into the crate I saw Erin kneeling on her haunches,
her head nearly touching her knees. Numerous elastic shock cords
were clipped to several padeyes bolted to the inside of the crate,
and to parts of her harness, collar, and hood. I was deposited on
my knees in a similar but opposing position, and Aunt Carol began
attaching similar cords to my harness. She then gathered several
short loose cords lying between us on the crate floor, and joined
us harness to harness. The inside of the crate (especially the floor)
was heavily padded, so the forced immobility wasn’t that uncomfortable.
Whenever Erin moved I could feel various cords stretch and recoil,
tugging at my body. We actually had about an inch of limited, increasingly
restricted motion, but couldn't touch the sides of the crate with
any parts of our anatomies.

She returned to the bottom of the crate (not an easy task now, through
our network of "bungee-bonds") and produced a square net of nylon
straps the approximate dimensions of the crate lid. This was stretched
and snapped to the upper padeyes, and a taut net ceiling now kept
us from raising our heads.

"Erin has always loved the farm, Brooke," Carol chatted. "I don't
know what she's told you about my place, but I think you'll love
it too." The lid began to close. "We'll probably miss most of the
rush hour traffic, so the trip back shouldn't take more than a few
hours. Try to get some rest." The lid closed.

Darkness. The distant muffled sound of the lid's latches snapping shut.
Erin's gagged moan—loud (in the enclosed space,) close (reassuring.)
The strap sliding against my sex, (the thong rubbing in counterpoint.)
My fingers flutter and touch a bungee cord which vibrates like a bass
string. The air—hot and close and laden with musk.